


the marriage of a tiger and fox

by orphan_account



Category: LOONA (Korea Band)
Genre: F/F, Magic AU, Magical Realism, guess who the furry is, magician jinsoul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 05:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20222650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The world had lost its magic long ago; to be an adult is to acknowledge magic and reality cannot simultaneously exist.In which Haseul grows up too quickly and meets the magician Jinsoul to learn about magic again.





	the marriage of a tiger and fox

**Author's Note:**

> based off the webcomic _Annarasumanara_ by Ha Ilkwon.
> 
> title taken from the old korean myth meaning rain on a sunny day.

In a long-forgotten amusement park sitting on the edge of city lines stands a frayed circus tent; large flaps of white and red stand tall – rigid – unmoving against the strengthening winds of changing seasons. Yellow fades to grey fades to black against the setting sun, the witching hour proceeding with a triumphant blare of olden horns. A breeze of melodies echoes through the empty paths littered with the scattering of the ghost of children’s whispers. Only the entrance of the circus tent flaps free of restraint, crushed sideways by solitude.  
  


There, in the middle of the stage of the three-ring circus that is padded with the dust of stars, shining and alive, is a blond magician. She stands tall, her back straight, dressed in a tuxedo meant for magicians of ancient past: black and white, clean, with coattails riding low that the tips sweep against the ground beneath. Enhanced by curled locks of blond so light the moonlight seeping through the circular top color the strands silver – the magician stands as a ringleader would, bowing to an invisible crowd as the specters cheer from the stands. Her hands twirl, grasping at strings of fantasy brought forth by the night, twisting and turning until they’ve formed a single beautiful rose.

  
She stands by her lonesome to fading dusk, ethereal in stilled air.

  
“Miss,” a voice as sweet as snow, as light as droplets calls her. “Do you believe in magic?”

  
The rose is offered to her, outstretched arms and an innocent smile adorning the flower.

  
Perhaps it’s the blinding moonlight that binds her to that old circus tent – her feet move in tandem with dancing streams of melodies from the depths of her memories that flood forward until they taken ahold of her senses. The muted grey sweeps her vision, the plodding steps thick and heavy against indifferent ears.

  
The magician continues the same youthful smile as the rose exits her gloved white fingertips into the hands of the young girl.

  
A flash of vivid color strikes the girl’s vision.

  
The rose is a vibrant crimson, the petals unfurling with each nook releasing an effervescent pigment that dyes her vision.

  
The magician bows once more, her eyes opening a striking blue.

  
“Welcome to the show.”

  
\--

  
Haseul is six when her mother passes away.

  
Yeojin is left in her place, weeping loudly to mourn the loss of what was then unknown to her.

  
Their father is gone, having run from what he could – from anything and everything – from money, from taxes, from tax collectors, from responsibility, from family, from them.

  
He ran away from them. Haseul tries to forgive him.

  
(She never can.)

  
Yeojin is bright, happy, carefree despite what they live on. She works, completely disregarding Haseul’s insistence that they could be supported on meager wages from her job.

  
“I’m the one who killed our family, so I should take at least some of the responsibility.”

  
The callousness of the statement has Haseul reeling, but Yeojin persists, smiling with the same childlike innocence. She doesn’t quite know how to answer – maybe Yeojin doesn’t needed an answer – and continues to peel the potatoes that will be mashed into their next meal.

  
“You didn’t do anything,” she says quietly instead, knowing that neither believed the lie. “I can take care of us. Just focus on studying.”

  
Yeojin snorts. “You act like your fifty.”

  
“I might as well be.”

  
“You’re only twenty – you’re still young, even if you are older than me.”

  
Haseul only grunts.

  
\--

  
The world is colored in grey and black and white; the ongoing typhoons that reign discolor the skies with thick thunderous clouds. She doesn’t remember the last time she’s seen the meadows of pastels blending into the greens of sun-kissed grass, but the paintings she studies fail to bring forth any of the vivacity of past. They are all relics, something simply to be remembered but never experienced again.

  
The magic of the world had dimmed long ago.

  
She attends school, a neighboring university close to Yeojin’s high school, the tuition funded by a scholarship. Then she works at a nearby restaurant until dusk, and returns home to study, eat, and sleep.

  
There is no stop or start, no variation; motion keeps the world spinning, and much like the restless Earth that twirls on an axis, Haseul travels with it, unable to disengage her feet from the solid ground below.

  
In the past, when the amusement park was open and full of life – mascots that cheered and danced, children that pulled laughing parents forward – Haseul had believed in magic. A handsome magician, a tall man with the shiniest black hair she’s ever seen on a person, had pulled a coin out of her ear, gifting it to her as a charm for future happiness.

  
She had wanted to be a magician ever since.

  
Her mother had been alive then.

  
Perhaps she should have given the coin to her.

  
\--

  
Haseul returns to the circus tent due to rain.

  
It started as a drizzle and ended in a downpour. Yeojin was home already, safe and warm, and Haseul had ducked into the only available shelter at the time. The amusement park served as a shortcut from the restaurant to her house.

  
The blond magician graces her with a smile as soon as she enters.

  
“You’re back!”

  
Excitement is evident. The sentiment is one-sided.

  
She edges backwards, remembering the rose that had disintegrated in her hands; its ashes had risen and spread like crystallized particles that had danced in her gaze before gathering up the ephemeral colors and stealing them away. Haseul tries to suppress the bitterness that materializes on her tongue.

  
“Why are you here?” The question is hostile, embittered. The magician pays no mind.

  
“I sensed something magical would happen today. That’s why I’m here.” The magician twists her top hat once, twice, before taking it off. She pushes her hand through, elbow-deep, to pull out a single chocolate bar. “Would you like some?”

  
“No.”

  
“It’s milk chocolate.”

  
“No.”

  
The magician frowns, only for a moment. She pouts like a child. 

  
“Your loss.”

  
The chocolate bar is placed back into her hat, the item then set back on the magician’s head.

  
“What’s your name?”

  
“Jo Haseul.”

  
“Why don’t you believe in magic?” The statement is said plainly, curiosity evident in the magician’s tone. The sharpness of her features contrast against the softness of her frowning lips. There are no lines in her glowing face, all physical imperfections of age nonexistent besides a single pale scar that mimics a line between her brows.

  
Haseul frowns. “Because it doesn’t exist.”

  
The magician looks unconvinced but presses no further. Deft fingers twirl the top hat before setting it aside on a small table set to the side of the stage. “Haseul. Pretty.”

  
A blush creeps onto her cheeks. Haseul scowls to hide it, blaming the sudden breeze as the sole cause.

  
“What’s your name?” she asks, teeth clamping on tongue to keep from chattering.

  
The magician pulls out a deck of cards from her coat pocket. She shuffles. “Would you like to learn magic?”

  
“No.”

  
Displeasure is clear on her face; her lips push into a tight line accompanied by a clenched jaw. Haseul fists her hands at her sides, the shuddering caused by cold rain sliding down the ridges of her spine stilled by an unexplainable bubble of anger that sits in her stomach. The magician pays no mind, letting the cards travel from one palm to another, flying through the air with grace.

  
“Your name?” Haseul presses forth again, irritation creeping under her skin.

  
The magician smiles girlishly. Cards continue to sweep through the air, its red a shocking contrast from the milling grey of rain. “If you help me perform a trick, I’ll tell you.”

  
Haseul turns on her heels and exits the tent.

  
Rain be damned, she returns to actuality.

  
\--

  
Righteousness has no place in reality.

  
A vixen personified sends her a curling smirk, one that besmirches the beauty of her visage; long fingers, slender and thin, link their way in the space between, creating a bridge for her chin to rest atop. Had she been the slightest bit sheepish, Haseul would have set it aside as a character flaw brought forth by the crushing weight of academics, but the lackluster emotions say otherwise.

  
“Think about it.”

  
Haseul doesn’t know her name, doesn’t know who she is, except for the envelope of cash that had forced itself into her palms. Her fingers fall listlessly around the bundle as the girl leaves.

  
“It’s just one essay,” Haseul says under her breath. The books of the library become oppressive, the binders twisting and turning until they’ve all faced her direction – a light overhead beams its ray directly onto her, the slight swing of its pendulum sanctioning the shadows to temporarily blind her.

  
“It’s just one essay.” She says again, clearer. A despotic silence digs its way into guilty shoulders. Her own words look back at her, disappointment turning to mockery.

  
Her hand crushes the envelope of cash as she hurriedly stuffs it into her pockets, hasty steps exiting the school library before the hushed whispers of leather and paper can reveal her secrets to the skies above.

  
Another envelope is slid into her willing fingers the next day, a smile of lazy claim sent in tandem as the essay leaves her grip into the hands of the vixen.

  
“Thanks.” The girl smiles prettily.

  
Haseul shrugs.

  
She walks past the library later that day, its hushed whispers reverberating against muffled footsteps. A bag of newly bought groceries presses against her chest as her tempo hastens.

  
\--

  
“I knew you’d be back.”

  
An excited hand waves to her from the center of the stage. Haseul is greeted by a smile so genuine that any precaution slides down weary shoulders.

  
“I’m only waiting for the rain to stop.”

  
The magician nods understandingly, her blue eyes glancing at the pitter-patter above. Whether it's naivety or ignorance, the magician fails to hear the lie that slips past – Haseul had no need to be in the tent with the magician today, but she had tucked her umbrella deep into the pockets of her backpack as an excuse to step in.

  
“Do you want to see my latest magic?”

  
Haseul meets the steady gaze of the grinning magician. She’s a beautiful girl of unknown age. Innocence shines from her radiant self. Haseul feels herself wilt in the glare of the sun.

  
“I don’t believe in magic.”

  
“Liar.”

  
The accusation digs hard. Her eyes narrow defensively.

  
Nothing can be said as the words ring louder and louder, growing bigger as they lift into the air, floating like clouds above. The stormy mist forms a shadow above her head, thundering and loud, the spattering of rain following her indoors as warm droplets drop against cold skin. It stings of the promises of what should have been, what could have been – of lost dreams, of forgotten memories – of everything Haseul wishes she could have.

  
“Magic is for people who can’t face reality,” Haseul says, forcefully, ignoring the way the gloomy mass above her head expands. “It’s for children.”

  
“Is it?”

  
The magician stands, her billowing coattails standing perfectly despite the roar of the wind pressing against the fabric of the circus tent. For the first time, a frown takes her delicate features, her sadness apparent in the slope of her brows and the curve of her lips; much like a child, the innocence that radiates from the magician’s visage is blinding. A beautiful person with such beautiful features – untouched by time, still shrouded by a protective magical veil that refused to let her move on.

  
Haseul, for the first time, understands why she could never talk to her – why they could never get along. Why their words could never cross the bridge of the opposite worlds they inhabit.

  
“I have to go. My sister is waiting.”

  
The magician remains in the middle of the island of magic. The world seems much dimmer than before, the night cloaking the moon’s light from peeking through to illuminate the path.

  
Haseul takes a single glance backwards.

  
The magician stands with her hat in her hands. Her eyes are forlorn, expression sullen. She looks like an abandoned child, left alone to fend off the encroaching monsters that accompanied the deepening shadows.

  
But that isn’t any of Haseul’s concerns.

  
Her sister is waiting for her. Her schoolwork is still left abandoned on her desk, and her aching limbs demand reprieve from the stress of standing for hours at work. She has no time for things as silly as magic – no time for something as childish as the blond magician.

  
“You’re quite cruel,” a soft voice sounds as soon as she exits the amusement park grounds and back on the path to her home. The rain sounds with a soft pitter-patter against the top of her umbrella that she had retrieved from her backpack once out of sight from the magician and the circus tent. A single cat, an orange tabby, lithe and sleek, jumps from the shelter of the overcast tree and onto the ground next to her, taking cover beneath the shelter of her umbrella.

  
Haseul continues her walk home.

  
The cat speaks, its footsteps matching the rhythm of Haseul’s.

  
“Leaving her all alone. She’s sad.”

  
Haseul ignores the pang of guilt in her chest. Her pace hurries. “I owe her nothing.”

  
The cat gives nothing but a small purr, sliding between Haseul’s legs to further avoid the rain. “And yet she has done her best to try and befriend you. Why not learn magic, ugly?”

  
“Ugly?”

  
“Ugly,” the cat repeats with a tepid meow, “A girl who can’t choose what’s right and wrong, one who willingly gives herself to a fox – don’t bother coming back if you’re going to make Soul sad.”

  
“Soul?”

  
“Too many questions.”

  
The two resume the walk back in silence. The skyrise buildings fade further into the background as the ground starts to uneven, paved asphalt blending to bumpy paths of uneven cobblestone. Small houses, ones that could barely be considered a functional space, pop in her vision, dreary brown roofs beaten into submission by the rain.

  
Haseul moves her umbrella to the side. The tabby hisses as a droplet hits its forehead. She would laugh at the creature if she wasn’t busy biting down a yelp of pain from a clawed paw digging into her thigh.

  
“Ugly girl,” the cat hisses again, fur bristling. It jumps onto one of the stone fences – a border to the woods behind the row of shack houses. It snarls one last time, sharp canines glittering in the orange glow of the lamppost. “Suffer on the cobblestone road. See if I care.”

  
And with that final statement, it turns around, fleeing into the woods of night.

  
Haseul is left standing beneath the orange lamppost, the words ringing over and over in her thoughts.

_   
The Cobblestone Road. _

  
The rain continues to pour.

  
\--

  
The cobblestone road was nice and smooth, a walking trail through the idyllic woods of the city. Sun-kissed and yellowed from weather and time, the stones had soon lost their shine and the resemblance to the fantastical Yellow Brick Road of an old tale had all faded but in memory of happier times.

  
Haseul shifts onto her left side, careful not to touch a snoring Yeojin who snuggles up against her back. There’s a low groan from her sister, but she pays no mind, her thoughts racing.

  
The cobblestone road had fell into disrepair years ago – it’s stupid, but Haseul thinks it resembles her life.

  
She had felt beautiful and lovely with her parents, lovingly adored and taken care of, surrounded by happiness and a bubble of splendor that the ugliness of the world shielded away from. It was after her mother had passed and her father had left that the cracks appeared, and suddenly, instead of shining in the rays of the sun, she shrank, willing it to go away.

  
Now she waits to be trampled by feet that no long stop to stare in wonder. She’s stomped and beaten until the cracks grow larger, the rocks grow looser, and the end is nowhere in sight – far way, maybe in the hills or mountain sides, she could escape. She could run down the uneven path, run and run and run, but the jagged edges would cut her. And the missing stones would trip her. And the sun would keep burning her.

  
Perhaps that’s why the rain had come.

  
Perhaps she had caused the curse of bad weather, rain and cold and wind gripping the city in a tight fist. It stopped her in the middle of the path – unable to proceed, but unable to return.

_   
Haseul’s Curse. _

  
Yeojin may laugh at that.

  
“Haseul’s Curse,” she says again, muffling the whisper by pulling the blankets over her head. “May the rain continue forever.”

  
\--

  
The vixen is back. The same smirk curls upon lazy lips, and her round eyes, narrowed only slightly, hold out another bundle of cash.

  
Haseul feels the air in her throat crush any resistance as its pressed into her hands with the promise of more to come.

  
“Take notes for me, you’re always ranked high,” comes the simple request, “You need the cash, don’t you?”

  
The question is less of a question and instead a pin that pierces the balloon that holds her little self-esteem, bursting the flimsy material with a loud  _ pop _ .

  
Haseul flattens, her entire compressed paper-thin as she agrees, taking the envelope and sliding it into her pocket with nothing more than a nod of her head.

  
The vixen smiles with appreciation. The expression soon fades into curiosity as she tilts her head to the side, long brown hair falling silkily down the side of her face, escaping from where it had previously been tucked behind her ear.

  
“How are you so good at everything?” None of the cloying pretend that previously inhabited her tongue is present. Haseul tries not to look so bemused.

  
“Magic.”

  
The irony escapes the other, but the resentment is clear in Haseul’s tenor.

  
The girl chuckles, “There’s no such thing as magic.”

  
Drizzling rain splash against the window of the lecture hall, its sound echoing in the depths Haseul’s mind.

  
\--

  
“Why are you back, ugly?” The orange tabby stops mid-lick, head lifting lazily with its pink tongue still poking out.

  
Haseul has no energy to argue with the cat. She shrugs, defeated shoulders slumped with weariness of years not yet lived. “Is the magician here?”

  
“No,” the cat lounges lazily on the wooden raft of the entrance to the circus tent. Rain splatters quietly around them, the portico keeping them sheltered. “Soul is gone. She’s setting up for her newest trick.”

  
The two lock eyes; yellow topaz stare into murky brown. The cat’s ears twitch. Haseul doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

  
“Will you watch the magic?” The cat asks.

  
Haseul is tired. The rain is dreary and grey.

  
The world is cold.

  
She wants to believe – how she longs to believe in magic again.

  
But she can’t.

  
Not without the magician.

  
“Will it make me believe?”

  
The orange tabby sits up, towering above Haseul from where it sits. It seems to be smiling.

  
“Turn around.”

  
Haseul does as told.

  
The merry-go-round of peeling paint faces her. A rollercoaster, sagging under the weight of moisture, looms in the background against a Ferris wheel that looks as though it had been stopped mid-turn. The cracked mirror maze, the abandoned stands, the lopsided carnival games, the other rides that dot the neglected park fade in the background of dreary fog.

  
“Close your eyes and count down from five.”

  
Haseul starts the count, “Five.”

  
“Four.”

  
A voice melts into the cat’s, replacing the soft mews with bright laughs, “Three.”

  
“Two.”

_   
One. _

  
Butterflies fly from the tip of the magician’s white gloved finger.

  
The fluttering of wings fills the night sky, like stars and galaxies of the universe above.

  
It’s beautiful.

  
Shades of blue, pink, and purple – neon to pastel, light to dark float from gossamer wings. Colors fill her entire vision, the park lit as though it had stolen the pigments of the world and concentrated it into the single amusement park that seemed to rise from the ashes of desolation. The Ferris wheel spins in saturation, the sound of a laughing clown from the mirror maze bouncing from stall to stall.

  
Breathless, Haseul stares.

  
The merry-go-round is spinning now. An old classic tune, brassy and loud, scatters the butterflies that gathers above.

  
The magician sits atop a vivid red dragon. Even the cat jumps from its place on top of the circus tent, crossing the rain to join the magician on a horse painted white.

  
The amusement park is alive.

  
Laughter echoes in the air. Screams explode from the rollercoaster than blasts from its resting place into the loops above. Specters of the past rise from the crevices, pushing and pulling until they too join the lively crowd. The rain dissipates, clouds opening above. And for a single moment, the full moon is visible.

_   
It feels like magic. _

  
“Do you… like this magic?” The magician appears in front of her, the dragon now riding unaccompanied in the continual revolution.

  
Haseul remains speechless.

  
Yet the blond magician stays laughing oh so beautifully. Her eyes are gentle and kind, and her smile warm.

  
The butterflies scatter.

_   
It feels like real magic. _

_   
No. _

  
Haseul feels her heart expand painfully against her too small chest.

_   
It is magic. _

**Author's Note:**

> twt/cc: @chuchuuwuo  
will reveal thoughts + intricacies after it's finished.
> 
> thank you for reading!


End file.
